


Hi Honey, I'm Home

by kitty_trio



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 00:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3338165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitty_trio/pseuds/kitty_trio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>blazeofglory asked for:</p>
<p>All I need in life is R and Jehan lazily smoking weed and making out, talking quietly about how much they love each other, and about art and about stupid shit.</p>
<p>I hope this somewhat fulfills your lovely prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hi Honey, I'm Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blazeofglory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazeofglory/gifts).



Sat at the back of the bus Grantaire fidgeted, knee bouncing. As much as he loved his dance students, and a very successful recital, he was anxious to be home. A glance out a side window showed they were making good time. Maybe a half an hour to the dance studio. The usual chaotic shuffle of getting a dozen pre-teen dancers reunited with parents or guardians. After a--hopefully--short debrief with Floreal, the Contemporary Dance Conservatory director, Grantaire could be on BART in a little over an hour, well ahead of the estimated return time he’d texted Jehan this morning. One of the parent chaperones frowned when Grantaire put in his headphones, but he just rolled his eyes at her. Most of the kids were dozing or playing games quietly on their phones. Grantaire would hear if they got up to any shenanigans that necessitated adult intervention. Plus they deserved some harmless fun. Everyone of his kids had done so well, most meeting or exceeding personal bests. Grantaire was so proud of each and every one of them. A tiny smile lifted the corner of his lips as he thought back over the recital. 

It had gone off so well. Floreal’s innovative choreography using elements of different styles of dance were magical once fully realized. Even more impressive was that she took on students with varying skill sets (and body types), built off of their individual strengths and weaknesses, and still created such magic. Hell, taking on a washed up semi-professional dancer as one of her lead instructors had to have been one of the craziest risks she’d taken. Grantaire still had moments of disbelief that this was his life now. 

This brought Grantaire’s thoughts back around to Jehan. Jehan hadn’t responded to any of Grantaire’s texts so he didn’t bother to send an update about when he might be home. It was nothing too unusual for Jehan to not answer calls or texts. He so easily got caught up in one of his projects to the exclusion of all else. Or, was having one of his occasional spells of melancholy. Everyone had their low points, Grantaire was hardly an exception, possibly that was why they’d made it this far together. They’d learned how to deal with each other: the good, the bad, and everything in between, together. Now Grantaire was itching to get home, his knee bouncing even more as he fidgeted. 

~ * ~

Dance bag slung over his shoulder, Grantaire turned onto their street. He filled the walk from the BART station wondering where he’d find Jehan in their mid-century bungalow nestled in the hills just north of the Berkeley campus--technically the bungalow Jehan’s parents originally bought for him. In no way could a poet and guest lecturer at UC Berkeley and a dance instructor afford a home in this neighborhood--Likely this time of day might find Jehan puttering in their hillside garden. He could be composing poetry or lyrics, or just jotting down every random thought that came to him. Often Jehan wrote whilst taking long baths, filling the room with the fragrant essential oils he liked. Other times could find him writing from within a blanket cocoon on the sofa or on the front porch while the sun set over the Bay. Now that spring was around the corner, and having the house to himself (and the cats), Jehan might be preparing for the next National Poetry Slam event to be held in Oakland. 

Jehan wasn’t on the porch, and the house was quiet when Grantaire entered, toeing off his shoes and dropping his bag in the entry. From (the empty he could see) kitchen the savory smells of a soup or stew simmering on the stove wafted. One of their special-needs kitties was the only occupant of the lounge. As Grantaire moved further into the house to their bedroom at the back he noticed the rest of the rooms were empty of human occupancy. That left the garden. 

Barefoot now and stripped down to his dance pants and an undershirt, Grantaire padded out the slider leading from the bedroom. He could tell Jehan had been pruning, but he wasn’t in any of the garden plots. Where Grantaire did find Jehan was in the hammock bed they’d repurposed from a trampoline last year. 

“Hey,” Grantaire called softy. He didn’t want to startle Jehan if he was napping or something. But then, he was home much earlier than expected and that could be startling of itself. Grantaire took a flying leap and landed semi-gracefully on the pile of pillows beside Jehan. 

“Hi honey, I’m home!” 

“Asshole. If you thought you were scaring me, think again,” Jehan said dryly. “I could hear you, and smell you coming,” he took an exaggerated breath. “Sweaty unwashed teens is not a good smell on you.” 

“If you think I’m going to shower before greeting my lover after such a long absence…” Grantaire couldn’t finish, bursting into a fit of giggles as Jehan rolled atop of him, smothering him with tickling kisses.

“Idiot, I did miss you, although it was only two days, tops.” Jehan nuzzled into the crook of Grantaire’s neck, belying his comments about Grantaire’s scent. He pressed his fingers into Grantaire’s waist, leaving ink and soil-stained bruises on the extra padding of fat Grantaire never could get rid of. “You want to make out like teenagers, or shower and have dinner and all those adult things?” Jehan asked smirking.

“Oh, make out definitely. Especially if you light up that pipe I see over there. Bahorel’s been by recently, yeah?” Bahorel always managed to get his hands on the best weed, and somehow knew when best to share with Les Amis. Grantaire sat up, shifting how Jehan was perched over his lap. For the next while they shared lazy kisses and touches, keeping it to a low level of arousal. Later they would be ‘adult’ and eat the stew Jehan had made. Maybe Grantaire would whip up some cornbread to go with. For now, reacquainting himself with the way Jehan sighed when Grantaire cupped the back of his head, fingers sinking in the sandy curls there was all Grantaire desired. That and the noises he couldn’t keep in when Jehan’s fingers skimmed down his sides and over the tops of his thighs.

Grantaire listened quietly, humming agreeably in the right places as Jehan discussed the lesson plans he was making for the next lecture series. He didn’t understand half of what Jehan was saying, but that didn’t matter. Just as he assumed Jehan listened politely when Grantaire couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice when he described how well all the young dance students had done, especially the Thenardier siblings. 

“Eponine brought the little ones along and they behaved beautifully the whole trip. Gavroche has so much acting talent, or just plain charisma, he had the audience wrapped round his little finger, making his missteps come across as planned. And Azelma,” Grantaire beamed, “Azelma was amazing. She’ll be a prima ballerina, I’ve no doubt.”

“Oh! Speaking of. Have you seen the new Hozier vid for ‘Take Me to Church’? I swear that could be you dancing so incredibly.” Jehan was actually serious and not joking, making Grantaire gape at him.

“Jehan! I am so not of the same calibre as Sergei Polunin. We are nothing alike. Okay, we both have tats and dark curly hair, but that’s it. In no way shape or form do I have a true dancer’s body--”

Jehan cut him off by pinching Grantaire’s lips closed. “No, nope you do not get to disparage yourself. Your boss teaches, _you_ teach dancers of all shapes and sizes. You are a professional dancer who happened to have a career _slowing_ injury.” Jehan had climbed back into Grantaire’s lap as he spoke, pushing Grantaire down the more passionately he worked himself up.

“Okay, okay, no disparaging. I’m a professional, with a stocky, perfectly non-traditional dancer’s body.” Grantaire loved how passionate Jehan could get, and was hopeless to resist when that passion was directed at him. “Can we get back to kissing and groping?” He waggled his eyebrows until Jehan shoved playfully at his face.

They finished the pipe and now that the sun was setting the marine layer was rolling in. The evening was becoming too damp, and once Grantaire’s stomach rumbled, Jehan shooed him indoors so they could eat and later resume their necking, and more.


End file.
